


Holiday Drabbles

by Femmevee, tameable



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Drabble Collection, Gen, Gift Exchange, M/M, also megs is bees dad for some of this, bulkhead is trans guys, lots of AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femmevee/pseuds/Femmevee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameable/pseuds/tameable
Summary: A collection of drabbles exchanged over eight days. Various AUs.
Relationships: Blitzwing/Bumblebee, Jazz/Prowl
Kudos: 44





	1. Unveiled Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> a little rundown for how this works:  
> •each day has a prompt one of us chose, alternating between who gets to pick  
> •drabbles will be separated with a horizontal line  
> •each chapter is a drabble  
> •specifics for drabble contents will be listed at the top of the chapter
> 
> happy holidays!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first up is a loosely buzzfeed unsolved-inspired bit by fern! after is turtle with a mermaid au in which bee is a merprince but due to some curse shenanigans was a human on land until he grew older & is now coming back to the sea and figuring out who he is

“Stuck in the middle of nowhere. Great.”  
Sari moped to herself as she dumped herself down on a fallen log. A few paces away stood Blitzwing and Bumblebee, bickering over their fate for the night.

“If we step out of the forest cover we’ll be spotted!”

“We’re in the middle of Canada, Blitzy! Unless Megatron or Prime suddenly got the hankering for maple syrup, I think we’re fine”

“What about humans? They’ll definitely notice us.”

“It’s getting dark! What about Sari?”

“Yeah, what about Sari?” She called from her place on the log, “It’s cold out here!”

“All right, all right!” Blitzwing relented with a yell. “We’ll just use your gps to get us back to Detroit.”

Suddenly, Bumblebee wasn’t all raring to go.  
“Uh...m-my gps?”

“Yes, your gps. What?” Blitzwing leaned down with a frown, “you didn’t do anything dumb to yourself while I was graciously flying you two here to, and I quote, ‘catch bigfeets on film’, did you?”

“What? Who, me? Your sweet little bee? Could I ever?”

Blitzwing pinned Bumblebee down with a glare. “Bee.” He started, “What did you do to your gps.”

“OHHH WHAT WAS THAT SARI? YOU NEED ME FOR SOMETHING?”

“What? I don’t n-“

“I’LL BE RIGHT OVEACK-“  
Blitzwing had gently yanked Bumblebee close to his faceplates, red optic twitching wildly as his monocle refocused in and out.

“Bee. What. Did. You. Do. To yourself.”

The yellow minibot hesitated only another nanosecond before reaching in through his subspace and pressed a button, and-

_FWEEEEEEEE_!

Confetti exploded out of the yellow mechs open chest, who remained with a nervous smile as the peppy paper shreds fell without fanfare to the ground.

“Little bug. What the fuck is this.”

“It’s our official creature hunting kit!” Bee exclaims, pulling out various items to explain, “There’s flashlights, bottled engergon, granola bars for Sari-“

“Hey can I have a bar?!”

“Sure, go long!” Bee threw the bar and left the little child to run off into the dark woods after it. “And look,” he continues, hopefully, “I even got us- and prepare yourself for this- matching bandanaaaas!” He whips out two long pieces of purple cloth, each adorned with ‘BLITZBEE 4 LYFE’ in yellow puffy paint. Blitzwing loves bee, but is not amused.

“Oh my Primus.” He muttered to himself, “I’m trapped. I’m trapped in the BUMFUCK middle of nowhere because of my himbo boyfriend!!”

“Ah ah ah, not himbo.” Bee corrected him, “I’m humble enough to admit that I do not meet the buff qualifications of being a himbo. You’re thinking of a bimbam.”

Blitzwing’s twitching increased, followed by a high pitched, almost indiscernible screeching noise as the beige mech clutched his head. Sari, meanwhile, had arrived just in time to find Blitzwing start to bang his head against a tree.

“We’re dead, bee.”

“What?” He turned to her with wide eyes.

“They’re never gonna find our bodies, bee. We’re doomed.” She munched on her choccy chip granola as Bumblebee nervously approached the occupied decepticon.

“H. Heyyy Blitzy, it’s okay, I can still use my gps.” Blitzwing halted mid bash. Slowly, he turned his head with a screech to face Bee, surprisingly still functioning as icy. “Then why. Didn’t. You. Use it.”

“I mean, it might be a few miles off, I installed something right next to it.”

“Let me guess-“

_FWEEEEEEEE_!

“This is where we’ll keep our ghost hunter kit!”

“HOW DO YOU HAVE THE TECHNICAL KNOW HOW TO REPLACE YOUR OWN BODY PARTS?!”

“I watch Ratchet sometimes!”

_Fwoom_.

The two mechs snapped their attention to the center of the clearing, as a roaring campfire was now ablaze, with sari sitting to the left of it, scrolling on her phone.

“I started a fire while you two jackasses were talking. We just need to get across the lake 40 miles west of here, but I say we camp for tonight.”

The two bots remained in silence for a time, slowly coming to turn back to each other.  
“You good with that, Blitzy?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah.”

“All right then. By the way,” the beige mech bent down to his audial, “try to refrain from doing weird stuff to your chassis. Trust me, been there, done that. Isn’t fun.”

“You got it, Blitzy boy.”

____________________________________________________________________

“This way,” Blitzwing says, servo warm where it’s wrapped around Bee’s. He doesn’t spare a thought to the party in full swing behind them.

Bee does, sighing wistfully at the bright lights and warm atmosphere he can see over the flicks of his tail. The currents run slow in this hall of the palace; nobody’s here to stir it up. They’re all caught up in the most recent dance that’s started up.

“What’s this about again?” Bee asks, equal parts annoyed and excited. Sure, he’s being drawn away from a fun time, but with Blitzwing leading him away, Bee is suddenly very aware that he could have a very different sort of fun time.

If only Blitzwing seemed into it.

His large fins twitch in agitation, biolights erratic. “You’ll see, little lune. Wait here.”

Ha, right. Bee? _Wait?_ He loves- _likes_ \- Blitzwing, but clearly they need a little more time to get to know each other. Then again, Blitzy had looked distracted… 

Either way, Bee isn’t one to stay still. Especially not after being told to do so.

He flicks his tail and wonders which way to go. There’s a cool current brushing in from the northern hall that makes Bee shiver. He dismisses it as an option. Maybe the southern hallway, back to the party? But Blitzy’d catch him and be all agitated again with whatever’s been bothering him.

Bee blows a few bubbles out of his gills. The moon shines in through layers of waves, so far up above. Well, _up_ is always an option. One he takes swiftly with a few flicks of his tail. He rides the currents up, looking out over the shiny rooftops of the palace.

It’s beautiful up here. Water shivers and makes moonlit reflections shimmer in the glass and polished corals that surround him.

He drifts towards a spot that looks well-worn. The stone has a deep curve to it, like a divot someone had spent long shifts of the tide lounging in. Its size dwarfs Bee but proves to be smooth and comfy.

Bee is just settling in to watch the moon dance on top of the ocean when he’s interrupted by the arrival of another mer.

His eyes are wide, biolights going off in bursts. “Oh,” he says, “I didn’t know anyone else came up here.”

“I don’t, usually.” Bee startles, brushing at his tail as he floats up. “Sorry, is this your spot?”

It certainly seems about the size of this mer. Though the watery moonlight distorts his colors, he’s obviously bigger than Bee, with flowing fins and a bright tail.

The mer scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call it mine, per se. There’s plenty of other places available.”

Bee clicks, a small sound of contrition. The mer cocks his head. “Here, take it,” Bee says. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, anyway.”

“How do you know you’re not _exactly_ where you’re meant to be?” The mer laughs, a little sad. Bee gets the feeling that this mer has had too much experience with fate and being in the right place at the right time. Or maybe… maybe the wrong place.

“Ah, how could I forget? I’m-” He swims forward, hand outstretched- “I’m Optimus.”

He stops short of actually reaching Bee, though, hand recoiling.

Bee recoils himself. Optimus? As in _Optimus Prime?_ As in one of the kings of the very palace Bee is maybe sort of trespassing on?

“I’m- um-” Bee tries, about as eloquent as dried seaweed.

“Bumblebee?”

Bee stops. Optimus’ voice is shaking. What in the pit is going on?

“Yeah?” Ugh, this is confusing. “How did you know?”

“You… you look a lot like a sparkling I…” Optimus bites his lip. “You look like my sparkling did.”

_Oh,_ Bee thinks, that sentence not really hitting him. Optimus studies Bee’s face as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

It clicks. _Oh, yikes._

“Uh, I’m sorry? I’m not sure you’ve got the right mer, your majesty.”

He clutches his helm. “You’re right. You’re right, I’m not sure what I was thinking.” Oh, Primus, is he about to cry?

Bee puts a comforting servo on his shoulder, hoping it’s not as awkward as he feels it is.

“It’s just,” Optimus stutters, “You look just like him- what I assume he’d look like today- but you sound just like him. You clicked at me. It sounded like that.”

Optimus wilts, tail curling in. “When he clicked, it sounded like that.”

Bee looks around desperately. What’s he supposed to do in this situation? A king is crying about his sparkling and Bee just happened to look like him. He looks back at the opening onto the roof, wishing he could swim back and wait as Blitzwing had insisted.

Speak of the devil, though. Blitzwing squeezes his shoulders through and emerges onto the roof. He freezes at the sight of Bee and Optimus.

“Your majesty?” he calls. Optimus looks up, fingers uncurling where they’d started to dent his helm.

Blitzwing exhales, bubbles floating from his gills. “Do you remember our conversation where I… shared suspicions of mine?” He swims around, one huge servo coming up to rest on the small of Bee’s back. “This is who I was talking about.”

Optimus blinks. Straightens. Wipes his cheeks. The way he stares at Bee this time cuts into his very spark.

Bee darts a glance between them. “Blitzwing?” he asks, voice wavering like Optimus’ had earlier.

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing says, Bee’s full name sounding odd on his tongue. “I have had an idea of where you came from since you shared your uncertain origins. If I’m right-” he smiles, small and hopeful- “I’d like you to meet one of your creators.”

“You are him,” Optimus whispers, awed. “My little Banban?”

Something pings in Bee’s processor at that. _Banban._ His optical ridges furrow.

“Papa?”

Optimus gasps the breath of a mer who hasn’t really _breathed_ in years. He rushes forward, arms clutching Bee to his chest, cradling the small sparkling he thought he’d lost.

“That’s right,” Optimus says, choking up, tears falling for a completely different reason. “I’m Papa.” He kisses the top of Bee’s head. Bee nuzzles into it, melting against warm scales. “And you’re my little Bumblebee.”


	2. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first is fern with a piece from our own au- think a countryside aesthetic with optimus & bee moving far from the city, except theres stories of "monsters" living out there. second is turtle with ye basic high school au

Bumblebee swiped his forehead and continued peeling his pile of potatoes. It was a week before Halloween, and he had promised himself to help bulkhead prepare a big feast for the meager collection of denizens of the moor, which only included him and Bulkhead, Prowl, Rung, and his own sire, Optimus. As the work was passed and sorted, and needed breaks for air from the smoky kitchen were necessarily taken, lots of idle chat was exchanged between the two mechs. For the most part, all questions and jokes were answered enthusiastically and bounced back with vigor, except for one. "How did you sleep last night?" A seemingly simple question, one Bee was finding hard to answer. "Uhh...I sorta didn't. Had a nightmare." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Bulkhead said as she sliced some cobs of corn. She paused. Another slice. "Do you wanna talk about it?" "You'd think I'm loony." "Come on, we all have some weird dreams sometimes." Hesitantly, Bumblebee sighed and lowered his peeler, half peeled potato still in his hand. "Well," he started, "it began during dusk, my dream that is. Oppy left to go get some material to make our costumes, and I remember being excited."

"Why?" "I was gonna do some dancing." Bulkhead couldn't stifle a gasp, "but your condition!" "It's still a dream, remember?" "Oh, yeah." Bee set down his work, wrung his hands, and continued. "So I went upstairs to go and get my shoes, but I found something else, too, hanging on the windowsill. It was the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen!" He remarked with a drawn out wistfulness. "Really? What'd it look like?" Bulkhead had forgotten her work as well, fully engrossed in the story. "Oh, it was wonderful! It was pink and blue, and it was stitched together with these lovely little roses- I'm pretty sure they were real, too!" " _Really_?" "Yes! And the skirt looked like a flower as well! I thought Optimus must've sewn it for me. When I put it on, I looked prettier than sleeping beauty! And normally I'm just prettier than Odette." "What then?" "Then I laced on my shoes and went downstairs to go play some nutcracker. Heehee. I'll never get over that name. Anyway, I put the record on and went out to the porch, and started dancing. I must've lost track of uh- dream time, because I only snapped out of it when I stumbled down one of the steps. And then I saw the scariest mech I've ever seen in my life!"

"He was taller than anyone you'd ever seen, even you! And he was wearing a long cloak, and some weird horns. His eyes were the worst part, bulky! They were red, and one of em was a biiiigg saucer compared to the other one!" "What then? Did he hurt you?" "No, he just kinda tilted his head to the side and asked me why I stopped dancin. Course, I handled it like a rational mech, totally didn't scream and most definitely didn't run upstairs and hid under my blankets like a sparkling. And then I woke up! Some dream, huh?" Bulkhead's optics were furrowed in uncertainty, hands placed under her chin, "are you sure it was just a dream, Bee?" "Of course it was a dream! Nothing like what I saw could possibly exist in this world." Though, he bit his lip just a moment later, "'cept…" "'Cept what?" "This morning when I woke up, I was wearing my dance shoes, and my legs felt sore too, like after a good dance session. And then when I went downstairs, Oppy scolded me for leaving the record player on last night."

"Was it playin nutcracker?" "Yeah, it was…...Ugh! You know what? This is just stupid, my dream was just a silly dream, that's it!" With a huff, Bee sat down and began peeling potatoes again, and a minute later, Bulkhead did the same, and it was like the conversation had never happened.

* * *

Bee walks into the school’s annual Halloween party with the confidence of a guy who’s, like, already been to jail and isn’t afraid of it anymore- That sort of _I’ve served my nickel. You come and_ take _me!_ Confidence.

Helms turn as he picks his way through the crowd, trying to avoid chaperones. There’s no way he’s letting his dads see him in his chosen costume.

The sheer pantyhose wouldn’t be so bad with a different ensemble, but Bee had a certain idea in mind for this look. The tight corset and tiny shorts of his playboy bunny outfit cling to his frame. A puffy tail is clipped to his lower back and a bunny ear headband is fitted between his horns. Like this, he even puts Knockout’s sexy devil costume to shame.

His friends are silent when he sidles up to them. Cheetor blinks, then whoops and claps Bee on the shoulder, fruit punch sloshing from his cup. Bulkhead giggles, servos over her mouth.

Prowl is less impressed.

“You look like a-”

“Hypocrite?” Bee interrupts. Prowl’s own little red riding hood costume wouldn’t be so bad, normally. But Jazz comes up behind him to wrap a servo around his waist. In a big bad wolf getup. “Where’s Blitzwing, anyway?”

“Corner by the snack stand,” Jazz replies helpfully. “Might wanna look behind you, though.”

“Behind me?”

“Yes,” Bee’s dad says, “Behind you.”

Bee turns slowly as if that’d help any. His dad looms towards the ceiling, gray and imposing.

“Um,” Bee tries. His dad rolls his optics.

“You’re against dress code, little one. You know I can’t give you special treatment.”

Bee slumps. Yeah, he knows, but it still sucks. He hadn’t even talked to Blitzwing yet.

Although Blitzwing must be a mind reader, Bee thinks, because Blitzy is suddenly at Bee’s side, draping a long coat over his shoulders. Bee isn’t sure what his costume is supposed to be, but the coat, at least, is good quality. Warm.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Blitzy says to Megatron, “I’ll escort him home safely.” Bee gives a thumbs-up behind Blitzy’s back as his dad shoots him a look.

“See that you do,” he acquiesces. Bee bounces a little in his heels.

Blitzwing keeps a protective servo on Bee’s upper back as he leads them out into the cold. The doors shut. Bee waits for a block, just in case, then nudges his servo to rest just above the puffy tail of his costume.

Blitzwing stiffens for a moment before gripping just a tad tighter. Bee rests his helm along the line of his huge arm, snuggling close all the way home.


	3. Campout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fern first with an au of ours affectionately dubbed Fanciful Wanderers! think robin hoods merry band of thieves wherein bee joins up bc hes on the run from royal responsibility. turtle next with some general maybe-canon maybe-not setting

Bee fidgeted awkwardly as he sat on the very edge of the log, carefully watching the gathering of strange mechs prepare dinner over a sizeable fire. The cloaked bots worked and talked together like they were friends all their lives, it made Bee feel very much like an outsider looking in. He was found by the leader of the group, who introduced himself as Optimus, under the roots of an old tree that morning, hungered to the wire. After some coercing, and a brief look over by a medical bot whom Optimus called Ratchet, and they determined that he was fine, just starving. Then, with much hesitance, but with nowhere else to go, Bumblebee followed the group until Optimus decided to stop and camp for the night, which was where he was now. Bumblebee referred to himself only as ‘B’, in hopes his real identity wouldn’t be pointed out.

Some of the group had been quicker to warm up to him, like Bulkhead and the odd looking organic sparkling, Sari. Ratchet and Prowl were as suspicious of him as he was of everyone else. So there he sat, eerily silent as he watched the mesmerizing fire crackle and glow.

He was snapped out of his uncharacteristically deep thinking by a tap on the shoulder. “HUH WHAZZIT- oh.”

Optimus was standing next to him with a small smile, bent over with a woven twig bowl in his servos, filled with steaming energon.

“I got the biggest portion for you, you definitely need it most.” he said.

Bee took the bowl from him with a grain of salt at his comment and hesitantly sipped at the deep pink brew. Sensing nothing wrong with it other than the gamey taste, Bumblebee slurped up the energon vigorously, until all but a drop was left.

“Th-thanks, Optimus,” the yellow minibot shakily said as he wiped his lips.

“Of course, it’s no problem.”

Optimus then sat down on the log next to Bee, tilting his helm as he looked at him.

“What were you doing in the woods, anyway? You didn’t look like you were there for camping.”

The question caught the former prince by surprise. He blinked a couple of times; just earlier that day he was loudly talking and joking with Bulkhead and Sari, but now he was deafeningly silent. But he never remained as such for long.

“Uh..I had a life, I guess.” He murmured as he fiddled with his servos, “But it wasn’t as great as I thought it was, and then I was carted off to marry some bot and that’s when I decided I had enough. So one night I just escaped, and uh, ended up here.”

It was the most basic version of his life and events that he was comfortable enough to tell, but Optimus nodded sympathetically as he finished his story. “That doesn’t sound much different than what we’re all here for,” the blue cloaked mech said, gesturing to the other mechs and organics gathered in the small camp.

Bee furrowed his brow in thought as Optimus gently took the bowl from Bee’s servos. “We’ll see if we can get to an Inn by the next sun fall, and then you can decide what you want to do for yourself.”

And thus, the former prince was once again left to his thoughts.

* * *

Prowl is endlessly grateful for the presence of his visor. It allows him to get away with a lot more than he otherwise would be.

Case in point: watching Jazz’s face in the warm firelight.

Fire wasn’t really something to be enjoyed on Cybertron. There weren’t campfires like this, purely for social purposes. Fire meant something had gone wrong- like a building had exploded, the energon stored there dissipating in the incredible heat. It meant war marched on.

Here, it was different. A good different.

Prowl crosses his legs, props his elbow on a knee, puts his chin in his hand. He’s got a good view across the flames like this, despite Bumblebee running around trying to knock him over.

Jazz is smiling like Primus themself just patted him on the back. It is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing Prowl has ever seen. Warm and easy, sitting naturally on his face.

Prowl turns away. His faceplates are warmer than he can explain away as a product of the campfire. He rubs at them, trying to get rid of the extra color there.

The color grows worse as Jazz plops down next to Prowl. Gah, how had Prowl missed him coming over? He tears his servos away, trying to be polite and look at Jazz properly, but only manages to dislodge his visor and accidentally smack Jazz on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Prowl says, hasty but not much else. He sounds bland and sparkless even to his own audios. It happens sometimes when he tries to modulate his vocalizer, trying to keep the excess emotion from peeking through.

Jazz brushes it off with a wave. “It’s fine, Prowler. Shouldn’t have snuck up on ya, to be fair. Circuit-Su training isn’t somethin’ we can just turn off. Here, lemme-” he says, reaching up. Gentle servos push his visor back into place, hiding Prowl’s wide, stunned optics.

He could lean into that touch against his cheeks. Feel it fully. Allow himself the pleasure of another mech’s touch…

Prowl scoots further down the log they’re sitting on and re-crosses his legs.

Jazz’s gaze is almost a physical weight on Prowl’s neck. That doesn’t seem to be the end of it.

“Do you, um,” Jazz says, still trying, oh Primus, _he’s still trying,_ “Want a s’more?”

“And gunk up my internals? I think Bumblebee is doing a fine job of it already.” Ratchet isn’t going to be pleased. Prowl would rather be spared the lecture.

“Right, yeah, you’re right…”

Prowl sits in resolute silence, staring into the fire.

Jazz takes a deep in-vent. Prowl braces himself for the inevitable confrontation. It always ends up like this. Scolded for being too cold, too mean.

“You know you’re allowed to ask for space, right, Prowler?”

Prowl whips his helm so quickly he briefly thinks he pulled a strut. “What?”

“You’re allowed to ask for space,” Jazz says more firmly. The firelight turns his visor almost orange.

Prowl… doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s the furthest thing from what he’d been expecting. He cocks his helm, considering. Jazz wouldn’t lie to him or ply him with platitudes just to make him feel better.

“Thank you.”

Jazz shrugs, studying the fire again. “You’re welcome, though I don’t think offering you your space warrants a thank you.”

“It does when nobody else has,” Prowl replies, factual. He scoots back towards Jazz’s side. “So thank you.”

Jazz doesn’t lean close. “You’re welcome,” he repeats, quiet. Their frames relax with a silent understanding between them.


	4. Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ironically enough, neither of us went shippy with this prompt! first, ferns got a decepticon bee au with some yearnin for truth n justice. turtles got whats been dubbed the ghost shoes au- dont worry about the name, just know prowl is yoketrons son and also, ahem, "dead"

“What were you doing in the lieutenant's office?”

Bumblebee refused to face him, hunching over in his seat like he did as a sparkling. Megatron refused to have this, and stomped around to face his moody son.

“Bee. He said you were rifling through battle records, do you have any reason for why that is?” Megatron asked again, steel edging through the tone of his voice. Bumblebee’s helm snapped up, showing his father a cold, hard glare.

“I wouldn’t _have_ to snoop around if you’d just give me access to them already!”

“You don't have the sort of access required for that yet, Bee! You know this!”

“I’m your son! I should at least be able to read some stupid archives!” Bumblebee rushed up and stomped across the room, making a point to be as loud as possible. The greying warlord had little choice but to follow after.

“Now son, you know that’s unfair to everyone else, I’d look like I was playing favorites!”

“Just for once I’d like to know something that wasn’t forced out of you! I only found out about my real heritage when Starscream gave me another microaggression!”

Megatron hesitated after that, setting his mouth in a straight line. Slowly, he brought a comforting servo to the yellow minibots shoulder, gripping it lightly. “Why do you want to see the old battle records anyway?” He asked softly.

Bumblebee sighed and shrugged, “I dunno,” he murmured, “I just wanna see if there’s any way we can somehow come up with a peace treaty-“

Suddenly, the servo on his shoulder was not so light. Megatron grasped Bumblebee’s shoulder tighter and whirled the minibot around to face him. “Repeat that again.”

There was a twinge of nervousness in his EM field, but Bumblebee puffed his chest out and told him anyway. “This war has been going on for as long as I’ve been functioning! Why can’t we find some way to at least _tolerate_ each other?”

“Bumblebee. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, or where you’ve been going or what you’ve heard, but there is no way possible to achieve peace with the Autobots. If there was, it would’ve been achieved by now.”

Bee started to get uncomfortable under his father’s intense glare. Quickly, he ripped the warlord’s servo off his shoulder and stared at the ground. The air was tense with the crackling of EM fields from the two mechs, both uneasy and unfortunately unaware of the others' thoughts.

“...do not ask me about this again, understood?”

“Whatever.”

Bumblebee stormed off towards his room, slamming the door a moment later.

* * *

It’s an odd orn when Yoketron realizes that meditation doesn’t offer the peace of processor it once did.

He had woken from recharge already off-kilter in the early joors of the night cycle. He attributes his early awakening to the ache in his spark, more pronounced this orn than it was the rest of the vorn, though it never truly went away.

Everything had been downhill from there; the expectations of his usual duties weighed heavier. Reviewing paperwork, hearing the complaints of civilians, meeting with foreign allies- simply getting off his berth was a struggle.

How is he expected to carry on with his duties on an orn like this? On the anniversary of Prowl’s passing…

Yoketron clenches his servos where they rest on his knees. His vents come harsh and ragged. And to think the half-joor he’d taken to relax was being wasted on agonizing over events long past.

Prowl should be _here._ Next to his creator, watching how everything is planned and carried out. Learning, growing. Looking to Yoketron for reassurance before doing whatever he’d set out to do with the confidence and grace he’d cultivated.

He should be, but he’s not.

Yoketron sighs and uncurls from his lotus pose. Being left alone with his thought processes is doing more harm than good at this juncture.

“Your Imperial Highness?”

Yoketron swivels his helm but doesn’t get up. He’s torn between being grateful for the distraction and resentful of it.

He misses being jumped on by his little sparkling, though he’d grown out of it quicker than most. He misses the habits Prowl had picked up to grain his attention. The prodding, the quiet comms, the silent presence joining him in the dojo. 

Prowl had only just come of age to be courted, too. Now Yoketron sits alone, growing old and gray. His optics glaze. He just _misses_.

“Your Imperial Highness?”

Yoketron snaps back. Right, he was being called on. “Yes, Lord Lockdown?”

“Hate bein’ the bearer of bad news, but your half-joor is up.” He looks appropriately contrite as he says it.

“Thank you for the reminder,” Yoketron says. “One moment more, please.”

Lockdown hesitates, annoyance edging into his EMF. “Whenever you’re ready,” he acquiesces.

_Whenever you’re ready._

What an unfortunate choice of words, Yoketron muses. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, not truly. Simply fuelled by obligation and a longing to preserve Prowl’s memory, even if only in his own processor.


End file.
